


Enough

by Flynncantation



Category: South Park
Genre: Blood, Craig tucker x Tweek Tweak - Freeform, Drabble, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, craig x tweek, creek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynncantation/pseuds/Flynncantation
Summary: When does it become too late to ask the right questions?Can the right words bring anyone back?





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> So....this is hard. Had to get it out of my system. 
> 
> It’s a bit rough. Kinda wrote it all in one.

 

 _I don’t understand. I don’t understand._ _I don’t understand_. 

Craig can’t move from where he is, the kitchen doorway, hand poised to toss his keys onto the cheap plastic kitchen table the way he does every day. Instead they swing loosely on his index finger until Craig’s arm sinks to his side and the keys filled with more silly trinket keyrings than keys clatter to the cold tile floor. 

Tweek hadn’t answered him when he called out a greeting; not even a shriek of surprise. It was strange, a break in routine. Craig didn’t like it. 

But when he’d strolled through the house looking for him and arrived at the kitchen, fear caught in the back of his throat, the sense of slow motion, like wading through deep water, firmly rooting him. A moment stuck in time forever emblazoned behind Craig’s eyes. 

“Tweek…” he manages, knowing,  _ knowing _ , Tweek isn’t going to answer him. The all-encompassing sensation of the Worst wraps him up in cold clammy arms and he surges forward, roughly sinking to his knees though it aches, shudders through his bones.

In the air his fingers flex uselessly. Should he touch? Should he move him? He isn’t equipped for this. He’d never thought--

“ _ Tweek _ ,” Craig whimpers desperately, finally gripping his shoulders. He doesn’t shake, only squeezes, terrified to jostle him, to make the damage worse. If it can get any worse. 

Craig has never seen so much blood, trickling like tendrils of red paint onto a crisp white floor, a domestic horror scene. Thinly in the air is that recognisable, nauseating metallic scent like the scent of death, like the scent of the end and Craig has to shove aside the urge to wretch.   

He snatches down two towels hanging from the fridge, wrapping one around each brutalised wrist, just to hide the wounds if not to still the blood, whether it’s still moving or not. And then, trembling, Craig tentatively presses two fingers beneath Tweek’s jaw and, breath held, waits. 

The softest, weakest sign of life. Craig gasps out a breath and drags Tweek up against his chest, holding him close like he can transfer his lifeforce straight into him. Shoving a hand in his pocket he produces his phone, oblivious to his blood-covered fingers until they hinder him, slipping grossly on the screen. He scrambles to clear it on his jeans, and then his hands, and then finally he can dial 911.  

He doesn’t remember the conversation. Leaving the phone on the floor still connected to the dispatcher soothing him through blind panic, Craig reluctantly rises to his feet to bolt to the front door, opening it in preparation for the paramedics. Ignoring the trail of bloody footprints he leaves behind, he races back to his prone lover, hoping with every inch of his being this was a nightmare he was about to wake up from. It’s not. Tweek is still there propped against the fridge, his arms resting on his thighs. Peaceful. 

“Why?” he cries into his hair after gathering him up, rocking with him on his knees. “ _ Why?” _

Tweek is volatile, flits between emotions with a click. Craig has seen his worst moments: crippling sadness, breathless, heaving sobs; rage, red hot and nuclear. But this.  _ This _ .

“Babe, why?” he repeats into thick blond curls, realising he now is sobbing, wet snot dripping from his nose, eyes stinging and hot. 

“I love you, why?”

“Why have you done this?”

“ _ Please _ .”

Craig pulls back to cup Tweek’s head in his hands, smooshing wet, desperate kisses to every inch of his face, a useless hope that, like a twisted fairytale, his love alone will bring him back from the brink.  

“I don’t wanna be alone.” Another kiss. “Don’t leave me here alone.” Another. 

Again he presses his fingers to Tweek’s throat; bated breath and a murmur of life. It’s a small relief. Craig looks around for something that might help but there’s nothing and at this point there’s nothing more he can do. And so he gathers Tweek back into his arms, protecting, and sways with him, eyes squeezed shut, Tweek still limp. 

“It’s g-gonna be okay, babe,” he whispers. “Okay? It’s gonna be o-okay--”

Craig’s voice cracks, dismay shoving in to replace his words. Thickly he swallows. 

“H-hey, I’ll sing you something, okay?” he continues softly, hands smoothing up and down Tweek’s back. “You tell me I should sing more and I will so I’ll sing you something, okay?”

He clears his throat and begins the first song that comes to mind.

“ _ Lover, I know you’re weary.” _

_ “Eyes are tired from the night.” _

Craig hiccups, squeezing Tweek more tightly, burrowing his nose against his neck. “ _ L-lover, come to the kitchen floor.” _

_ “Tiles are cold, so am I…” _

A pause. A curse. His voice is weak, barely a melody. But still he serenades. 

_ “I feel your sorrow pouring out of your skin.” _

“ _ And I don’t want to be alone.” _

_ “If I am tonight, I’ll always be.” _

Dimly he can hear the wail of sirens in the distance. Craig checks his pulse once more. Nothing. He squeezes Tweek tighter.

_ “I-I can feel you slipping through my hands...” _

“ _ Take what you want from me…” _

_ “Please stay…” _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If ou made it here, thanks. Not a nice topic. 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @flynntervention :)


End file.
